


In Case of Emergency

by LogicalParafox (Solitarysynonym)



Category: Marvel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 14:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16494233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitarysynonym/pseuds/LogicalParafox
Summary: When Clint Barton gets a call that he needs to get down to the hospital immediately, he finds someone unexpected.





	In Case of Emergency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somebody-please-write-this](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=somebody-please-write-this).



Clint's phone rang. 

He rolled over automatically, on his feet and reaching for his clothes before he realized he didn't recognize the voice and hadn't parsed anything it had said. The clock blinked 12:00 at him, a reminder that he still hadn't set it since the brown out a week ago.

"What?"

"Mr. Barton, you are listed as the patient's next of kin and we need you to come down to the hospital immediately."

Clint's heart gave a painful thump. Had his brother been in a car accident? Gotten into some other trouble? He jotted down the hospital's address, then called up a cab before struggling into jeans and a shirt. No time to make coffee, not if Barney was in trouble, but halfway down the fire escape it occurred to Clint that shoving a handful of coffee grounds into his mouth and hoping that would suffice had not been his greatest plan. 

"If you want some mints for that coffee breath, I've got some," the cabbie offered, wrinkling his nose. 

"Just drive," Clint attempted to mumble through his bitter mouthful, stubbornly chewing and swallowing. 

The cabbie gave him a skeptical look in the rearview mirror, but pulled smoothly out into the flow of traffic. 

\-----

"We have no record of a Barney, Mr. Barton," said the harried receptionist, the stubble on his jaw scraping as he rubbed his face. 

"I got a call that my next of kin was here and that I had to get here right away," Clint insisted, keeping his hands flat and steady on the counter. He curled his toes in his boots one at a time to relieve his frustration where no one would see. 

"We have no record of a Barney, Mr. Barton," he repeated, then pursed his lips, brown eyes flicking back to the screen. "You said you got the call this morning?"

"A few hours ago." Steady hands. Can't aim for shit if your hands shake whenever you feel a strong emotion. He forced himself to stop curling and uncurling his toes. Barney was fine. Unless he had been doing something shady and had given a false name. But then... why would they have his contact information? 

"Ah found you! No, you got the call for the patient in room 1213," the man said, glancing at Clint with that distant assessment of an emergency worker dealing with people in bad situations and carefully wrote down the room number in large letters on a printed out nametag and passed it across the counter with a clipboard. "Sign in please and we'll let you up. The monitor on the recovery ward can brief you on protocols when you get there." 

"Recovery?" Clint asked, heartrate picking up again. His hands were steady on the counter, betraying none of his feelings. "How do I get there?"

"Down the hall...." The brown eyes skate over Clint again, pausing briefly on the circles under his eyes and the heavy coffee smell on his breath. He pulls out a paper map and draws a line in red sharpie, circling the elevators and writing a 12. "The desk on 12 is right in front of the elevators and that nametag will tell them where to send you."

\-----

Despite being large enough to accommodate several gurneys at once, the walls of the elevator felt as if they were closing in. Maybe it was just the smell of disenfectant. The ride was smooth at least and a sharp-eyed woman in scrubs focused on him when he stepped out of the elevator. She relaxed very slightly when she read the number. 

"Mr. Barton?"

"That's what the nametag says," Clint tried to joke, glancing around. Sterile walls with harsh lighting stretched away behind doors with electronic locks, other nurses and doctors moving around with the brisk, alien efficiency of bees, their tasks and goals beyond his comprehension. 

The woman's lips thinned, eyes narrowing slightly. He wilted under the disapproval. 

She clicked her tongue and tapped a few things on her keyboard. "You'll be glad to know that it's looking like they'll make a full recovery, on fluids now and should be coming around after surgery within the next hour." 

Clint nodded, doing his best impression of someone who knew what those words signified. 

"I can take you to the room to wait for them to wake up or you can stay here in the lounge area and we'll notify you when they're conscious," she said, nodding toward an open space set back from the hallway with a number of chairs and magazines scattered around on low tables. 

"I'll sit with them," Clint said, unwilling to admit that he wasn't sure just who he was visiting. 

The woman nodded and tapped on her keyboard again. A guy who looked too young to be out of class let alone working as a nurse popped his head out from a room down the hall, checking a beeper before sliding it back onto his scrubs. He gave Clint a friendly smile and pulled off a pair of gloves as he leaned against the desk. 

"Visitor for 1213," she said briskly. 

The nurse nodded and smiled at Clint again. "Right this way, sir." Clint memorized the corridors as they walked, checking for exit points and for the defensibility of the rooms. 

Given that the person had his cell number and was willing to put him down as an emergency contact, he was leaning toward someone from S.H.I.E.L.D., and given everything that had been said... If this person was a fellow agent in trouble after a mission gone wrong... It couldn't be one of the Avengers... Their faces were too well known for the minimum of fuss he was seeing here. Mentally he ruled out injuries from alien or monster attacks, especially as there hadn't been anything on the news... or had there. The call had woken him from a sound sleep... probably his first deep sleep in a week which was frankly typical. 

Twelfth floor was less than ideal, particularly if he and the injured agent had to make a speedy getaway without setting off alarms. On the other hand there were too many exit and entry points for a quiet ambush to be effective. Too many bodies and too much equipment for scans to be fully effective. The lowered ceilings no doubt concealed a labyrinth of ducts and wiring, offering concealment for potential enemies but also an exit route if they got desperate. Clint rolled a shoulder as if to loosen it, checking from the weight of it that his concealed bow was still safely stowed, quiver still in position and both hidden safely in a plain black backpack that made him look like a teenager. Kate had gotten it for him and laughed herself silly before telling him he looked like a scruffy high schooler with it on. 

The nurse finally pushed open the door to room 1213 and Clint stepped inside, scanning the face on the bed for familiar features... and froze. 

"Mr. Barton?" 

"Oh, yes sorry. I guess I wasn't ready to see her unconscious," he said distantly, staring at the hair that should have been a vivid red but lay in tangled black curls on the plain white pillowcase. "What happened? I got a call that N..." No, no names, at least not her name. If he knew anything about Natasha Romanov she wouldn't be here under her own name anyway. "That no one was willing to tell me what happened until I came in, just that she was hurt and I was her emergency contact." Years of training kept his body relaxed, a smile on his face, his eyes friendly and open, betraying none of the confusion and turmoil he felt. Why was she in New York? Why was she in the hospital? Why did she have his phone number?

"Ah, I wasn't aware that you... Probably you should wait for the doctor..." The nurse glanced toward the door.

"Please, just a summary? Is she in any danger?"

"No, no it was a burst appendix, which... well it can be serious, but she got here in time and they were able to remove it without difficulty. She'll have to stay for observation for a bit but she should make a full recovery," he said, bedside manner on full display in the soothing voice. The nurse's level of control and calm told Clint far more than the baby face about the nurse's age. 

"Thank you," Clint said, holding out his hand. "I'll wait here for the doctor and I won't mention that you said anything." 

The nurse winked. "Bathroom's through there, she should be waking up in the next hour or so as the sedative wears off. If you want to go get something to eat or need directions, just hit the nurse button and one of us will come help you."

Clint nodded and smiled until the door shut. "So I'm your emergency contact?" he asked quietly. 

"....didn't know who else to call," she said, opening her eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Her fair skin had a faint sheen of sweat. Normal hospitals weren't equipped to deal with people who weren't _quite_ human. 

"What name did you give them?" he asked, glancing around the room again. Nat was pale and wan, and he reached for the cup of water with the straw positioned conveniently close. "Are you thirsty?"

"Maggie Stevens," Natasha said, reaching for the cup and then wincing, putting her hand to her side. "I hate surgery."

Clint held the cup for her as she drank. "Was it really a burst appendix?" 

"Ridiculously enough, yes." She sighed and nodded when he started to put the cup down. "Thanks. Even I can't manage to extract one of my organs." 

"And your handlers?" 

The look she gave him was sharp as a scalpel but gone in an instant as she looked up at the ceiling again. "I prefer," she said carefully. "Not to be under sedation around my handlers." 

Clint tried not to let his jaw drop. Tried less successfully not to grin. Natasha gave him a **Look**. 

"I'm not saying I trust you more than them." 

Clint nodded, regaining his spy-face with some difficulty. He'd been working on her for years now, building up this fragile connection. "I wouldn't trust them either." 

Natasha gave him another look before closing her eyes. "Do you think you and your little team can get me out of here before anyone comes looking?"

Clint hesitated, then set his hand on hers, relaxing when she wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing painfully hard for a moment before she gained control of herself, her eyes still closed. "Yeah Nat, I think we might just be able to manage it."

**Author's Note:**

> Day one of my piecemeal NaNoWriMo in the form of various works of fanfiction. This one goes out to somebody-please-write-this and primarybufferpanel for the excellent prompt.


End file.
